Love is Come (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Heather B. Moore

  “It is?” Nelle asked, starting to feel better. But her dreams always turned tragic at the end, and she would wake up shaking and sometimes crying.

  Pearl reached over and patted Nelle’s hand. “Tell me of your dream this morning.”

  “How did you know I dreamed this morning?”

  The woman only smiled.

  Nelle let out a breath and gazed into the swirling tea inside her cup. “I dreamed that we were at the coast for a holiday. The weather was warm, so it must have been during the summer,” she said as she glanced at Pearl, “about this time of year. I couldn’t have been much older than nine or ten since I was digging in the sand, intent on making the largest sand castle in existence.”

  Pearl laughed. “Dreams are like that—we feel capable of the impossible.”

  “I remember hearing my mother’s voice the most clearly,” Nelle continued. “It was like she was really there, speaking to me.” She sipped her tea, trying to get a hold of her emotions. “And then my father was standing over me, casting a shadow on my castle. I remember peering up at him, and he smiled—that goofy smile he used to give me when I was young: big grin and wriggling eyebrows.”

  “Was it a place you’d vacationed at before?”

  Nelle lifted a shoulder. “There wasn’t anything specific about it—it could have been anywhere. I laughed at my father, and the next thing I knew, he was leading my mother away from the beach, holding her hand. I asked them where they were going, but neither of them said anything back or even looked at me. All I know is that I was left alone, kneeling on the beach, as the sky grew dark with rain clouds. Then a terrible emptiness grew inside me. It was as if I knew in my dream that I’d just seen them for the last time.” She fell silent and continued to stare at her tea, for she couldn’t look into Pearl’s compassionate eyes.

  “What happened? You woke up?”

  “Yes,” Nelle said. “I woke up to the morning. At least it wasn’t the middle of the night. But the emptiness was real, and I still feel it now…”

  “Do you think your parents are trying to tell you something?” Pearl asked.

  Nelle snapped her head up. “Like what? That I’m all alone?” She’d spoken this more sharply than she’d intended to, so she started to apologize, but Pearl stopped her.

  “That you are alone now,” Pearl said, “but they’re watching over you.”

  “How can I know that?” Nelle asked, her voice trembling with the desire to make it so.

  “We cannot know, but we can certainly believe.” Pearl leaned closer, and Nelle caught the scent of jasmine blossoms. “It’s what you believe that’s important in your life. If you believe your parents are watching over you and visiting you in your dreams, then you can be comforted in that belief.”

  Nelle thought this over. Did she really have the power to turn her troubling dreams into peaceful ones?

  “In the meantime,” Pearl continued, “I want you to take these scented sachets home with you. Place them under your pillow, and you should sleep better at night.”

  Nelle watched as Pearl moved in a fluid motion to a cupboard on the other side of the room and withdrew a small box.

  “Will it get rid of the dreams?” Nelle asked.

  Pearl smiled. “You don’t want to get rid of the dreams. Consider them a blessing from above.” She crossed to Nelle and handed her the box. It was pale pink with gold Chinese lettering on it.

  “Why did you come to New York?” Nelle asked. Pearl had given no indication that she was married and seemed to run the shop by herself.

  Pearl settled again in the chair across from Nelle. Her smile was soft, and her gaze distant when she finally replied, “I suppose you could say I have spent my life following my heart, and this was the place I was led to.”

  “You are following someone you love?” Nelle asked.

  “It’s not my love story that I care so much for any longer,” Pearl said in that cryptic way of hers. “A long time ago, I was in love. But that is a story for another time.”

  Nelle leaned forward. “Were you married? Do you have children?”

  “I never married.” Pearl gave a soft chuckle. “I have found happiness in other ways. In the fells of Yorkshire and the hills of County Donegal.”

  “You’ve visited those places?” Nelle asked, astonished that this tiny woman had lived such a full life—and without a husband to accompany her.

  Pearl’s face lit up. “I have lived an exceptional life. Quite unconventional for some, perhaps, but I wouldn’t trade my choices for anything.”

  “So, you were born in Shanghai?” Nelle asked.

  Pearl smiled that half smile of hers, which seemed to hide more secrets than it revealed. “I was born in a small village, about three days’ walk from Shanghai. That’s another story for later.”

  If Nelle didn’t know any better, she would have thought Pearl was trying to shoo her out of her shop.

  “Take the sachets with you, and don’t be afraid to remember your parents,” Pearl said in a soft voice. “The memories of your parents are a gift to be cherished. Find some way to remember them, some way to honor them. Write down your memories.”

  “All right, I will,” Nelle said. Perhaps if she wrote down her memories of her parents, the disturbing dreams would stop.

  “I’ve been around a long time,” Pearl said, “and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it's that one should not think so much on sorrows, but think of your blessings despite the sorrows. The less you dwell on the hard things, more room will be left in your heart to fill with good things.”

  Nelle supposed Pearl was right. But it was hard to comprehend what Pearl meant when the pain of Nelle’s parents’ deaths seemed to taint her every thought and action.

  “Have you read Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë?” Nelle asked.

  “I haven’t,” Pearl said.

  “There’s a line in the book that I’ve reflected on,” Nelle said. “I have to remind myself to breathe—almost to remind my heart to beat!”

  Pearl grasped both of Nelle’s hands. “Those words are deeply poignant.” Her eyes shone with moisture as she spoke again a moment later. “I can certainly relate.”

  The two women sat in silence for a few moments, and Nelle reflected on how she felt blessed to have someone like Pearl to speak with. Finally, she rose and thanked Pearl before leaving the shop.

  When she stepped outside, Nelle discovered it was later in the afternoon than she had thought. The comfort and peacefulness of visiting with Pearl dissipated in the bright light. She’d have to hurry back to her aunt’s so she wouldn’t be missed…or, at least, wouldn’t put anyone out for being late for supper.

  Alice should be having her final fitting today for the dress she was planning to wear to the Greenwoods’ ball. And Alice was also working on memorizing a poem to present at the dance. “It’s the thing, now,” Alice had told Nelle. “I’m not a pianist like you or a singer, but I could always recite a poem.”

  Nelle crossed the road and set off toward her aunt’s home. As she passed by the rows of houses, she thought of the day Mathew had given her a ride. So much had changed since then. Alice had returned, and Mathew would be proposing soon.

  Nelle had been playing the piano daily for Mrs. Janson. It had been good for both of them, and an unexpected friendship had sprouted. Nelle knew she would miss the woman when she returned to the city. But she knew she couldn’t allow herself to also start missing those chance encounters with Mathew. In order for her to truly wish her cousin a good marriage, she couldn’t be spending her mornings with Mathew’s mother and becoming more attached to the family.

  By the time Nelle reached her aunt’s home, she’d determined to put Mathew completely out of her mind. She would take Pearl’s advice and write down her memories of her parents. She’d finish out the summer here then return to New York City. She’d live with her uncle or find a women’s boardinghouse. She’d spend time with Dottie as well as make new friends. And she would tr
avel.

  Nelle’s confidence grew with each new decision. She would be all right. Her parents had loved her while they lived, and she would show her appreciation and love for them by living a full life in their honor—like Pearl. If Nelle did decide to marry, then she’d marry. But Pearl had shown her a new way of thinking. Perhaps Nelle would look into being a schoolmistress out west after all.

  Her aunt or cousin were nowhere in sight as Nelle entered their home, so she went upstairs to her bedroom to change her clothing. Moments later, Alice burst into her room, carrying several thin books.

  “There you are,” Alice said, sweeping past her and stopping near the window. “Have you heard the news?” she asked, but she continued without waiting for Nelle’s reply. “Mrs. Greenwood’s nephew is coming to the ball, and he’s a poet! Can you imagine anything more romantic? A real poet will be there. And now, I’ve got to change the poem I was going to recite.”

  “What’s wrong with your original choice?”

  “Well, I need something that’s fresh and not overdone.”

  Nelle didn’t know poems could be overdone.

  Alice held out the books she carried. “I’ve bought these from the town bookstore, and we need to find a poem that is powerful and romantic.”

  Nelle took one of the books and opened it. “Christina Rossetti?”

  “Did you know that she turned down three marriage proposals?” Alice said. She pointed at the book Nelle held. “You read through those, and I’ll read through these. We need to find something extremely romantic.”

  Alice settled on Nelle’s bed, so Nelle sat on the single chair in the room. She read through several poems then stopped on one entitled “A Birthday.” She started to read it silently, then Alice looked over.

  “What are you reading?” Alice asked.

  “It’s called ‘A Birthday.’ But I’ve never heard this one before.”

  “Read it to me. Your birthday is soon, so it might be fitting,” Alice said. “Everyone will think I’m paying homage to my dear cousin.”

  Nelle began in a slow voice, letting the melodic words wash over her:

  My heart is like a singing bird

  Whose nest is in a watered shoot;

  My heart is like an apple-tree

  Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;

  My heart is like a rainbow shell

  That paddles in a halcyon sea…

  “That’s it,” Alice interrupted. “Anything about a heart will be romantic, and I think it will impress the poet.”

  “What about Mathew?” Nelle asked. “Isn’t he the one you’d rather impress?”

  Alice shrugged and gathered up the books she’d brought. “Mathew wouldn’t know romance if it ran over him in a carriage. You know that husbands aren’t meant to be romantic. Have you ever read a poem about a woman swooning over her husband?”

  Nelle kept her mouth shut. She didn’t know what Alice considered romance, but Nelle did know that Mathew made her own heart flutter every time he looked at her. Of course, she’d put a stop to all of that fluttering when she had told him not to compliment her or to even speak to her anymore.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mathew stepped out of the carriage and helped his mother down, leading her to the front doors of the Greenwoods’ mansion. She’d been complaining all afternoon of a sore throat and a headache. He’d suggested they stay home so she could recover. The complaints stopped then. When Nelle wasn’t around, his mother seemed out of sorts. So he had to be grateful that she at least spent the mornings with his mother. He couldn’t very well expect Nelle to stay all day.

  Especially since he’d pushed her to the brink of annoyance. He’d slept little last night as he mulled over their interchange on the road. Perhaps he should have shown up with the carriage, and perhaps he shouldn’t have complimented her on her hair. What sort of gentleman was he?

  “There’s Alice now,” his mother said beside him as they walked into the Greenwoods’ home.

  Sure enough, at the end of the foyer, Alice sat, looking dolled up, hair piled on top of her head, wearing a glittering pale green gown, and speaking to…Mathew didn’t recognize the fellow. He must have come with one of the invited guests.

  “Mrs. Janson, Mathew,” Mrs. Greenwood exclaimed, welcoming them. “You’ve got to meet my nephew, Lucien. He’s here for a couple of weeks, arriving in time for the ball to dazzle all the women. Look, Alice is positively fawning over him.”

  They all looked, and Mathew’s mother tightened her grip on his arm. Alice was leaning toward Lucien, her head cocked to one side, as she smiled up at him. If Mathew didn’t know better, he would think his near fiancée had developed a serious crush on the man.

  “Did you know that he’s a poet?” Mrs. Greenwood continued. “His first collection was recently published, and I’ve asked him to read a selection tonight.”

  “Isn’t Alice reading a poem as well?” his mother asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Greenwood said, clapping her hands together. “It will be marvelous. I can hardly wait for the recitations to begin.”

  Mathew told himself he should be surprised by Alice’s open flirting with the poet, but, in truth, he wasn’t. He’d seen her flirt many times with other men. Why he’d never been particularly bothered by it, he couldn’t say.

  But seeing her attentions toward the poet bothered him for some reason. Perhaps because it was at the Greenwoods’ event. Or maybe because Alice knew Mathew was going to propose tonight. So shouldn’t she be doting over him?

  Mathew knew he wasn’t madly in love with Alice, but he thought they’d get along quite amiably, and their families were compatible. Not a lot would change with their marriage: he’d continue to be busy with his work, and she’d continue being busy with her social life. For the first time, Mathew wondered how others saw their relationship. Would Alice continue flirting with every man once they were married? And, would it bother him if she did?

  It wouldn’t bother him if he’d thought being married to Alice was the best choice for him. But the more he got to know Nelle, even when she was angry with him and not speaking to him, the more he wondered if he was jumping too fast into an engagement to Alice.

  Mathew continued to watch Alice with Lucien. He told himself that Lucien was someone new, someone different, and he was a poet, a person who Alice could idolize for only a short time. Until the next anomaly came into town…

  With this thought, Mathew left his mother chatting with Mrs. Greenwood and crossed the hallway to greet Alice.

  “Oh, there you are, Mathew,” she said, turning to face him, her voice aflutter. “I’d like you to meet Lucien.”

  Lucien bowed his mop of blond curls. He was tall and lanky, and his dinner coat looked a bit threadbare.

  “Congratulations on your publication,” Mathew said. “Mrs. Greenwood just informed me.”

  “Thank you very much,” Lucien said in a singsong voice, showing his crooked front teeth as he spoke. “I am very honored. I hope you’ll stay for my recitation tonight.”

  “Of course,” Mathew said, glancing over at Alice, whose full focus had returned to Lucien.

  “Did I hear that you two are engaged?” Lucien asked, looking from one to the other.

  Alice actually blushed. But she grasped Mathew’s arm. “Not yet…” she said and then leaned toward Lucien as if she were letting him in on a great secret. “…Although, I’ve heard from a reliable source that tonight will be the night.”

  “Ah!” Lucien said, clapping his hand on Mathew’s shoulder. “May I offer my early congratulations, then?”

  Mathew was too stunned to say much of anything. But he soon realized Alice had hardly noticed his reaction since Lucien had started quoting a poem to her…apparently, one about two lovers, written by Lucien himself. And when he finished, Lucien grinned and offered an extravagant bow. Alice clapped and gave a small squeal.

  “Isn’t he wonderful, Mathew?” Alice asked, but she rushed on, asking Lucien several
questions, before Mathew could formulate a reply.

  As he watched Alice talk with Lucien, Mathew felt as though he were seeing his future: Attending social events with Alice only to feel as if he were on the outskirts of every conversation. Relegating himself to only the most casual of touches from Alice, without any real intimacy behind them. And feeling no desire on his part for more.

  It was easy for Mathew to admit Alice was a beautiful woman, even a vivacious woman. Yet, she was also a selfish woman. There. He’d admitted it. And although Alice was a woman whom his mother approved of, Mathew was finding the idea of marrying her less and less appealing.

  At that moment, Mathew saw Nelle through the open archway that led to the next room. She was dressed in a conservative pale gray gown as befitted her mourning state. Her hair was swept up off of her elegant neck, and small diamonds glittered on her earlobes.

  When she turned her head toward him, it was too late for Mathew to look away from her very blue eyes. Her mouth parted as if she were surprised to see him or, more likely, surprised to have caught him watching her. She quickly turned away and started to weave her way through the gathering, walking toward the far side of the room.

  Mathew told Alice he’d return shortly, but she barely acknowledged his departure. He set off after Nelle. She had stopped at the refreshments table, and Mathew kept his eyes on her as he moved through the crowd, not wanting to lose sight of her. But a few people stopped him and greeted him, so he had to school himself in patience and be polite.

  As he grew closer to Nelle, he began to ask himself what he was doing. She’d asked him to not speak to her anymore. Yet, here he was, unable to change his direction.

  “Mathew,” an old woman said. He turned and greeted Mrs. Pierpoint and her husband. After a few pleasantries, Mathew continued to where Nelle had been standing last, but Patrick had joined her.

  Mathew slowed, watching as Nelle was smiling at Patrick. Unlike when he had watched Alice flirt with Lucien, seeing Nelle and Patrick sent Mathew’s emotions and his thoughts tumbling against each other. He knew he had no idea what they were talking about, but just the fact that Nelle was smiling at Patrick made Mathew feel as if he’d been stabbed with a heavy sword.